


Dark Portrait of a Renaissance Prince

by bluebeardslastwife



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeardslastwife/pseuds/bluebeardslastwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~heed the warning~</p><p>During Wrath of the Lamb. Dolarhyde gets further in his plan to 'change' Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Portrait of a Renaissance Prince

Will sips his wine, silently cataloguing the room around him. The cool, salty air encroaching though the broken window, the smell of spilt wine and blood, Hannibal’s ragged breathing against his own measured one, the steady press of the gun hidden in his waistband.

 

In the center of his view, Dolarhyde, the leather-clad giant stands silently for a moment, taking in the sight of Hannibal Lecter before him on the floor. Without lowering his gaze, he kneels and removes the components of a tripod and video camera from his bag.

 

Dolarhyde addresses Hannibal, his voice reverential and barely above a whisper.

 

“I want to rejoice with you, in our shared vision. Be recognized by him as John the Baptist recognized the One who came after.” He twists the camera lens and adjusts the focus so that Hannibal is sharp and center-screen.

 

“And sit on you, as the Dragon sat on 666 in Blake's Revelation series.” He presses record, then takes his hands off his camera like a rock-balancer who has placed his last stone, watching for a sign of instability.

 

“I’m going to film your death, Dr. Lecter. As dying, you meld with the strength of The Dragon.”

 

Hannibal has been silent but laughs quietly at that. “That’s a glorious, and rather discomforting idea,” He replies.

 

Hannibal chances a sideways glance up at Will. Still hiding in his wine glass, Will allows himself only to stare back impassively, lest Dolarhyde sense something amiss. _He must not feel for him. Not now._

 

“Watching the film will be wonderful...” Dolarhyde whispers, anticipation sending tremors through his voice, “but not as wonderful as the act itself.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folding knife, snapping it open.

 

At the sound, Will’s hand involuntarily twitches toward the gun in his waistband. Hannibal turns his gaze imploringly to Will, who holds his gaze steady, his hand steady, his face closed and betraying nothing. The tension in the room tightens and strains.

 

Will opens his mind to Dolarhyde, assessing his intentions. _Not yet_ , he decides, feeling Dolarhyde’s attention split between him and Hannibal. _Wait_. Then he feels Dolarhyde’s attention focus in on Hannibal, and the time is right.

 

But in the back of his mind a golden pendulum of light starts to swing, and suddenly it is in front of his vision, and it blinds him for a moment. When he is able to see again the angle of the room has shifted. Instead of Dolarhyde he sees Hannibal. He feels the knife in his hand and the dragon in his belly. The world is at his feet. He can do anything. _Anything_.

 

He watches Hannibal through the camera for a moment. Framed by the camera’s lens, Hannibal’s image is beautiful. The newspapers and magazines always print unflattering pictures of him, with the few acceptable ones lovingly pasted into his scrapbook.

 

But here, slumped elegantly against the grand piano with shadows falling over his face, one hand lying flat against his stomach, Hannibal’s image evoked a dark portrait of a Renaissance prince. As Dolarhyde had always imagined him.

 

But his scrapbook, like the rest of his past self, is now only ashes. Soon Dr. Lecter will be gone too, consumed by the fire of his radiance.

 

The world around him is quiet, it shimmers at the corners, as if not quite fully materialized. He is keenly aware of the potential of this meeting between him and Dr. Lecter, of his becoming trembling on the brink of realization. Oh, how his hands ache to hold him down, to squeeze his throat until loss of blood makes his heart quiver like a bird.

 

“I want to share with you, Dr. Lecter. As I shared with Reba,” he whispers. Not taking his eyes off the prostrate figure on the floor, he places the knife between his teeth and slowly pulls down the zipper on his leather jacket. He’s naked underneath.

 

He steps around until he’s in front of the camera. He pulls at his jacket until it’s around his shoulders, and then lets it slide smoothly off his arms, revealing to the camera the tattoo on his back. The dragon tattoo fills the screen, and as Dolarhyde stretches like a bird preparing for flight, back muscles rolling under inked skin, the wings are animated.

 

“I shared with her just a little, in a way that she could survive. But I did not change her,”  
he pauses, so that his next words hold weight, “I chose not to change her. I am now stronger than the dragon.”

 

He slides off his shoes and pants. Soon, he’s standing bare except for some skin-tight black shorts. Then, he slides those down. The rest of him is carefully sculpted too from years of training.

 

“How magnificent you are.” Hannibal murmurs quietly, his eyes trailing down his body. Then Hannibal again glances sideways to Will. Dolarhyde feels a sudden fire in his chest. Will Graham, to whom Hannibal had confided Dolarhyde’s plans and secrets.

 

“You betrayed me.” Dolarhyde’s accusation cuts through the air, a sudden change in his demeanor, ready to spring. Hannibal, having seen no reaction from Will, turns onto his hands and knees to crawl under the grand piano, glass from the shattered wine glass cutting his palms.

 

Dolarhyde crosses the space between them in two long strides, grabs hold of Hannibal’s ankle and slides him back across the floor. Hannibal tries to twist away from him, but it is no effort at all to hold him down, to twist his wrists together and restrain them against his back with one hand. With his other hand, he presses a fist down hard on Hannibal’s gunshot wound, the knife in his fist lying flat against Hannibal’s spine.

 

“Don’t struggle,” Dolarhyde rasps, “I’ll sever your spine.” He waits until Hannibal has stilled beneath him.

 

“You betrayed me,” he continues, “but this is not an act of revenge. I know you understand this, Dr. Lecter. For you, alone among all men, have the sensitivity and experience to understand the glory, the majesty of my Becoming.” He withdraws the blade and uses it to slice carefully through Hannibal’s belt, then drops the knife.

 

Hannibal flinches, his breathing shallow from the weight of his wrists pressed into the center of his back.

 

“You’ve skipped the breaking of the mirrors, Francis. What will you do without your reflection in my eyes?”

 

“I needed to make the others see me, and see them see me. But I know, you can see me now.”

 

He pulls Hannibal’s pants and underwear down over his hips, until they are down to his knees. He straddles Hannibal’s thighs and lowers himself until his cock is pressing against his entrance.

 

“Francis-”

 

Dolarhyde presses in slowly, his head thrown back, muscles in sharp relief. Hannibal’s voice catches in his throat and his body stiffens. His hips press downward reflexively against the intrusion.

 

The rush of power is intense, and he needs to bite and tear. He pulls the neck of Hannibal’s sweater to the side, presses his hips forward until he is fully inside, then leans down and closes his jaw around Hannibal’s bare shoulder. He hears Hannibal cry out as his grandmother’s crooked teeth break skin. He presses his tongue forward to taste. Blood wells up around his lips, and when he draws back with a snarl his teeth and chin are stained red.

 

He draws his hips back and thrusts the length of his cock back inside. He fucks Hannibal slowly but harshly, the sounds of flesh-on-flesh filling the room along with his low moans and Hannibal’s labored breathing.

 

Then, Hannibal attempts to speak. “I see you, Francis,” he stutters out. His voice is rough and strained. “I see your true self.”

 

Dolarhyde grew still.

 

“You are a disgusting boy and a sexual failure. How did your mother feel when she saw she had given birth to a monster? She abandoned you, didn’t she? Even corrective surgery couldn’t convince her to love you.”

 

“Stop talking.” Dolarhyde hisses through clenched teeth.

 

Hannibal bares his teeth in reply. “If Reba had her sight, you would repulse her. You would have to kill her to fuck her-”

 

A knot of shame tightens in Dolarhyde’s stomach, but then the shame is gone, replaced with rage.

 

“ _You know NOTHING_.” His voice has become the Dragon’s voice and it thunders disembodied throughout the house.

 

He withdraws from Hannibal and flips him onto his back. He grabs Hannibal’s ankles and forces his legs open and back against his chest, pushing back into him. He shifts his position until he is bearing down on him, fucking him deeper with short, brutal thrusts. He presses his hands hard onto Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal claws at them until his body shakes from deprivation.

 

Dolarhyde feels himself begin to transform. It starts as an itch on his back, then a tearing, and the wing tattoos on his back bulge and unfurl into large, red leathery wings. His skin tightens and turns the same leathery red. The room seems to shrink, or he seems to grow in size. He sees his skin start to absorb a faint golden light emanating from Hannibal’s form, as dying, Hannibal melds with his strength.

 

“ _SEE ME_.” The Dragon commands.

 

Hannibal opens his eyes, red and shining with tears, and looks up at him. The sight of his wings spread in triumph, the fire dancing behind him, is reflected in Hannibal’s pupils.

 

His wings curve down like a chrysalis around Hannibal’s limp body, Hannibal’s mouth open in a silent cry.

 

“ _YOU OWE ME AWE_.”

 

Dolarhyde’s breathing becomes erratic, his thrusts more urgent. He pulls Hannibal's hair back, exposing his throat, preparing to rip it out with his teeth. Hannibal closes his eyes.

 

Then Hannibal’s face is sprayed with blood. Dolarhyde drops his grip, a sudden weakness in his arm. He’s been shot in the shoulder. He spins around to face his attacker, grabbing the knife beside him on the floor and-

 

-the gun flies out of his hand as Dolarhyde turns and lunges. A knife stuck into his face, blood filling his mouth and lungs, he is lifted off his feet. Dolarhyde throws him like a rag doll into the patio. He rolls across the stones.

 

“ _It'll be easy to break your back_ ,” Dolarhyde’s voice booms after him, “ _break your back and twist it_.”

 

Will relocates the knife in his face to Dolarhyde’s thigh. Dolarhyde roars in pain then stabs Will in the shoulder, bending him backwards with the handle.

 

This is it. Will lets himself go limp.

 

But then, miraculously, Hannibal is there, arm wrapped around Dolarhyde’s throat. But Dolarhyde is still too strong and he manages to throw Hannibal off.

 

…

 

In the midst of the struggle their eyes meet and their movements coordinate effortlessly and gracefully. Hannibal jumps on Dolarhyde from behind, pulling back head back by his hair. Will lunges forward and slices through Dolarhyde’s stomach.

 

Will’s own stomach scar sears as if he were cutting himself open. A rush of air from wings flows past him as the Dragon is freed from his prison.

 

…

 

They stand at the edge of the cliff, but Will feels as though he is already free-falling, endorphins rushing through his veins and thrumming through his fingers. _It’s beautiful_. He holds the man in front of him close and rests his head on his chest.

 

He can see his pulse fluttering in his neck and he marvels and both the tenacity and fragility of life. He holds him tighter and takes them over the edge.

**Author's Note:**

> -thanks for reading :) comments/criticism are welcome. (i'm not a writer but i had to write this b/c no one else did lol)
> 
> -several lines are taken from the Hannibal scripts/Red Dragon novel


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